Doubting Angels
by Persephone-il
Summary: Farfarello asks too many questions, and ends up getting more answers than he wanted. FarfarelloSchuldig.


Title: Doubting Angels   
Author: Persephone   
E-mail: Persefone_il@yahoo.com   
Status: Complete   
Type: Drama, Yaoi   
Spoilers: Ep. 18, original series   
Sequel: This is a prequel to 'As Lost As You And Blind'   
Rating: R   
Content warning: M/M sexual situations, Strong language, Violent imagery   
Summary: Farfarello asks too many questions, and ends up getting more answers than he wanted. Farfarello/Schuldig. 

**

Doubting Angels

**

It is said that everyone has a spiritual animal. It is said by heathens who do not listen to the True Words, and therefore it has enough sense in it that I might listen. 

If I could choose an animal, I would have chosen a dog. Happy on the hunt, obeying the orders of its master, until the time comes where you not only bite the hand that feeds you but tear the arm and body attached to it into bloody, glorious shreds, panting over the destruction you've caused. And then you must run into traffic, because that's the only punishment befitting a traitor, even if the master you've sworn to serve is cruel and unjust... 

Forgive me. I tend to get distracted. 

It is also said that you cannot choose your animal. Rather, it chooses you. I wonder what spirit would bind itself to one of Schwarz. 

Schuldig is another whose animal spirit I wonder about. A cat would be obvious - sensual and violent, playing with his prey - as would be a fox, for his cunning, as well as the attractive red fur. When I asked him, he pretended to think, then proclaimed his spirit animal to be a dolphin, loudly enough that a girl who was standing nearby (we were awaiting our Fearless Leader by an ice cream stand, of all places, and were passing the time in conversation) heard him and said, excitedly, "Oh, yours, too?! That's so Cool!!!" 

I beg the unfortunate omniscient Being listening to my thoughts to forgive me the excessive exclamation marks. I must be truthful to the facts, in the rare event that I grasp them truly. 

Schuldig smiled thinly and said, "Of course. They're the most efficient killers in an environment full of other, resourceful killers. Life first came from the sea, sweetheart--" The girl had gasped at the endearment, if it truly could be called that-- "And it had a few million years to get really good at killing other life before it could eat its food and fuck its females." 

The girl ran away in tears, and Schuldig's smile became more genuine. "You know," he said, thoughtfully, "I think my spirit animal might really be a dolphin. Thanks for bringing it to my attention." 

I bowed my head and said, "I live to serve." 

His smile widened. "So I've heard." 

But for all of that, I doubt that a dolphin would be right for him. Dolphins are notoriously eager to please humans, and Schuldig would no doubt have a heart attack if asked to perform tricks for anything, never mind a bucketful of fish. 

I asked him at another time, when we were driving, what he thought of the whole idea. He took a deep draw from his cigarette and said, "Angels, spirits or ancestors, I couldn't really give a damn. If I wanted internal peace, I'd take Valium." 

That comment left me pensive, and Schuldig waited for a few moments before verbally poking me again. Schuldig finds still prey boring. "Why so quiet? Someone who kills priests has no right to pout because other people are religiously intolerant." 

I considered. "True." 

He gave me a short, sharp glance. "Oh, come on. Have a sense of humor. It's not like I shot your puppy." 

"You might have, if I had one." 

I managed to surprise a laugh out of him with that. "What do you know? So you *do* have a sense of humor. We might make a human being out of you yet, Farfie." 

I tensed and gazed forward blankly. "I would prefer it if you didn't call me that." I didn't use a demonic pseudonym so that people will call me by something a deluded five-year-old might call a puppy. 

Schuldig crowed in delight. "Is that so?" He took one hand off the steering wheel and patted my head with it. "D'you think I could get the others to start calling you Wuffles?" 

I tried to grab his hand, but failed. He was much quicker than me. I had to acknowledge that. 

He snorted. "Oh, hell. You still think I've got that super-speed thing? Two words for you, Rexie: Time. Perception. I can control it, you know. It comes with that cool thing I like to call telepathy." He shook his head. "If all those assassins we've been up against could've seen themselves moving in slow motion, they'd've shit themselves." 

Hmm. Interesting. I wonder what else he-- 

"--Could do?" he said. "I could show you, if you asked. If you asked *nicely*." His voice was a distinct purr. I would certainly have to reconsider the possibility of a feline spirit animal-- 

Something must have hit me. Powerfully enough to smash all my bones, by the feel of it. And 'feel' wasn't the right word, no word could be right for something this intense. Blissfully, I lost consciousness after a mere eternity or two of it. 

When I awoke, I was lying in a bed, and Schuldig was scowling at me like the strangest guardian angel ever seen. 

I barely managed to say, "I'm alive." 

One of his eyebrows was lifted. "You'd better stay that way, or Brad will have my ass roasted on a pitchfork." 

The image of Schuldig in hell was an intriguing one, but I doubted he'd stay imprisoned. Schuldig would, likely, end up running the entire place in two weeks. 

"Suicide is a mortal sin," I said, more as a way of avoiding an actual answer than because it needed to be said. 

Schuldig rolled him eyes. "So, what, the punishment for trying to kill yourself is death?" 

I frowned. That was strange, when he put it this way, not to mention redundant. Surely even clergy would have managed to notice this loophole. I wonder how they answered it. 

Schuldig's slap derailed my train of thought. He glared at me. "Don't you dare, you bastard. You're staying awake until Brad sees he doesn't need to kill me just yet." He was standing several feet away, so I concluded that either the slap was a mental one or that he had toyed with my time perception again. 

And that made me wonder. "What happened?" 

He tightened his lips. "Fuck me if I know. I give you a little stroke, the next thing I know you're spasming on the seat. I had to pull over and make us invisible all the way to this hotel. I called Brad, he'll be here in half an hour or so with the Boy Wonder." 

Strange. This would require some thought. Perhaps epilepsy was visited upon me to show me the error of my ways. In which case, it would be a complete waste of His time; I am well aware of all of my errors, and have committed them all gladly and wholeheartedly. It might be that it was sent to counter the influence of a diabolic agent - the latter being Schuldig - but, again, He must have despaired already of freeing me of said influence. If He could be said to despair. On one hand, being omnipotent, surely he is capable of feeling every human emotion; on the other, God is the embodiment of all that is Good, and therefore, even if He could, would not choose to feel what could be construed as a negative emotion. 

The question of God's possible despair was an interesting one, and I might have spent more time contemplating it if Schuldig hadn't hit me again. This time, I knew it was an actual strike, because his fingernails scratched the skin. I raised a finger to touch it, then brought it to my mouth and licked the blood off. 

Schuldig was looking at me in a way that made me slightly anxious. His expression was one of horrified fascination. I waited for him to speak. Schuldig rarely disappoints in this area, and he didn't then. 

Slowly, he said, "How did you know there was blood on your skin?" 

"I felt the wetness." I fought my rising apprehension. 

"Wait a minute. You don't notice fucking *knives* when they're sticking out of you ribs, and trust me, I know that from personal experience, but you notice that your cheek's wet? Or, for that matter, when I slap you?" He narrowed his eyes. "This had better start making sense soon." 

"That's not the exact truth." I paused for a while, trying to put it right. Schuldig, obviously reining himself in, said nothing for that whole time. "I am aware of the sensation. It simply doesn't occur to me that the feeling is... undesirable." 

"So, what, you feel pain but don't care?" He prowled the room. I pitied the carpet. "Bullshit. You *don't* feel pain. I'd *know*." 

"Perhaps not like you feel pain. I know that something is, for example, sticking out of my ribs. I feel it there. It feels... interesting." 

He approached me and said, "So when I do *this*..." 

He tore away the blanket I was covered with and put his hand on my naked groin. 

I swallowed. I couldn't look away from the hand, boldly going where no hand should have gone, especially not a man's hand, and said, "Please take that away." 

"I'm wondering if I should be offended." He took it away, nonetheless. "You're blushing," he said in something between glee and surprise. "I didn't think you could blush." 

"There is nothing wrong with my circulation." I stared fixedly downwards, where his hand had been. I knew what the common reaction to such intimacy was, if only because Schwarz had a preference of catching their targets in bed, but fortunately had never experienced it. The flesh is the gateway to all sin, but one of my gateways had been sealed shut, and I never gave it a second thought before now. 

Schuldig gave a disgusted snort. "You didn't feel that at all." 

It was easier to speak now that he wasn't touching me in ways people just shouldn't be touched. "I did feel it. You've got cold hands, Schuldig." 

He tossed his head backward and laughed. I blinked and turned my head to look at him. He was giving me an amused, only slightly horrified look. "You mean *that*? You call that sensation? How the hell do you jerk off?" 

I felt heat in my cheeks. "I don't." 

He snorted. "Like hell--" His eyes widened. "Well, fuck me, you really don't. Congratulations, Farfarello, you've managed to be the first man in human history to have passed puberty without--" His eyes widened even further. "Holy shit, without *any* kind of getting off? I mean, jeez, not even wet dreams? That's just cruel." 

I shrugged. "We are but the playthings of--" 

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard. But, I mean..." He raked his hand through his hair. "*Scheisse*." 

For a while, there was silence. I had nothing to say, and Schuldig was obviously shocked beyond words. Eventually, a thought occurred to me, and I said, "Why didn't you know all this already?" 

"Because, believe it or not, I don't actively *enjoy* being inside psychopathic minds," he snapped. "I just gave you a once-over to make sure you wouldn't kill us in our beds when you joined and kept to taking looks at your immediate thought patterns when it suited me." 

That was reasonable enough for me. However, it seemed that, once the silence was broken, Schuldig was not content to allow it to continue. He said, "At least this explains what happened." 

"Enlighten me." 

"Not bloody likely." He snorted. "Seriously, though, it makes sense. It'd be the same if I tried giving sight to someone who's been blind since birth. His mind isn't equipped to deal with that. What I gave you was just a tease, and you can thank whoever you want for that, but it was still something like a hundred thousand times the strength of your normal range of sensations." His mouth curled. "'Normal range of sensation'. Blech. Give me a lab coat and be done with it, why don't you." 

"I don't think I will." But the idea behind this was interesting. Perhaps my own special torment would be to spend a lifetime in a body whose only natural sensation was pain, and for whom pleasure was thousand fold worse than pain. 

Schuldig sat down on the edge of the bed, and nudged me with his hand. I stiffened. "What are you doing?" 

"Just trying something. It probably won't hurt." 

He put his palm on my shoulder. I could feel a bit of warmth from it. As he moved it, I felt it grow warmer and warmer, and was beginning to grow uncomfortable before I realized it wasn't actual heat. Schuldig frowned and said, "Loosen up a bit. It's a lot more likely to hurt if you expect it to." 

I took a deep breath, than let it out in one shocked gasp when the heat became something more. I could feel the pattern of skin, slightly rough but still softer than anything I felt in my life, although considering that I never actually *felt* anything soft that's not saying much. There was warmth still, but now it was different. It seemed to seep under my skin and pool inside my chest, where it loosened up something that had been clenched so long I never realized it was there. 

I risked a look at Schuldig's face. He was frowning, possibly with concentration, possibly with something entirely different, and the sensation changed again, growing shallow and faint again... But faint wasn't right. Schuldig's hand felt just like it always would have. It was only in comparison to the new depths Schuldig's touch had that this normal sensation was shallow. 

Schuldig stared at the ceiling. "Please tell me why I feel I've just done something I'll regret." 

He didn't seem to expect an answer, and so I stayed still, lingering over the memory of true touch. 

He didn't bother keeping me awake and present after that, so I passed the time in contemplation while he paced and mumbled to himself. When Crawford and Nagi arrived, he explained my situation to them himself. 

Brad nodded and said. "All right, then. Farfarello?" 

I turned my eye to him and waited. 

"You're not allowed to have sex." 

I nodded. It was a fair matter of safety, both physical and moral, although I doubted Crawford cared much for the fate of my immortal soul, such as it is. He is a pragmatist, and if he believes in any deity more powerful than himself, I have yet to see evidence of it. 

Schuldig, apparently, did not agree. "*What*? You can't tell him that!" 

Crawford said, "I just have. You seem to be a little slow today, Schuldig." 

Schuldig waved him off. "Fuck that. It's his body and his funeral, and if he wants to hurry *that* up along it's his right." 

Nagi blinked and said, "Did this become a democracy when I wasn't paying attention?" 

Crawford gave him a brief smile. "It did not. Thank you, Nagi." 

"Well, if you're gonna say we're not allowed to have sex, this is one autocracy I'm out of!" 

"Schuldig, please stop shouting. You're attracting attention from the other rooms. You might notice that I only forbade Farfarello. You are free to do as you want." 

"If anyone is," I said, wanting to contribute to the conversation. 

Schuldig glared at me and said, "First thing, once you've said one of us can't do something, it's precedent and you can say others of us don't, either. Second, this is dumb. Think about it; he's been living with his body for nineteen years and with the feels-no-pain thing for, what, thirteen?" He glanced at me and I nodded. "He's used to it. I don't think sex is gonna make much of a difference." 

Crawford considered this. "First, we also occasionally tie Farfarello down for his and our safety. It's necessary for him; it's not for you. Second, you've said he's a virgin on all accounts. Has this changed?" 

"Unless you consider one mental grope and one physical one, no." 

"Very well. Do you remember the first time you've had sex after your telepathy erupted?" When Schuldig shuddered, Crawford went on. "I gather I've made my point." 

"Graphically." And yet, Schuldig didn't seem appeased. "But I got it under control eventually, which I couldn't have done without practice." 

Crawford shrugged. "All right, then. Farfarello, from now until further notice you're only allowed to have sex with Schuldig." He turned and left the room without another word, Nagi following. 

Schuldig stared at the door with a furious expression. "That--" He spent a while trying to find an appropriate epithet. He failed, although some of the things he tried were interesting. "He works just like Eszett, that jerk. Someone comes up with an idea and doesn't do the beaurocratically-correct thing with it; you dump it on them as punishment for not doing what you want. Fucker." 

He seemed interested in ranting, so I declined to comment. Unfortunately, he seemed to take my silence personally. 

"You!" he said, pointing a finger at me. "What are you, brainwashed? I do my best to get *your* ass out of the line of fire, and you just sit there *agreeing* with everything that anal retentive asshole comes up with. Why do I even try, you wanna tell me that?" 

"I'm afraid I can't," I said. 

He rolled his eyes. "Like I could've expected anything better from you. You're supposed to be *against* dogmatic bastards like Crawford, not on their side." 

"I wasn't aware of that." The best way to react to Schuldig when he was upset, I found out, was to act stupidly. It gave him something convenient to lash at, which meant that he was likely to leave one to one's self sooner. 

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't think I can't hear you playing dumb, doggie-boy." 

The problem with acting, I found, was that one was likely to be caught in the act. "I suppose you can." 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and said, "Fine. Never get laid. See if I care." 

I shrugged. "You don't need to. It's not as if I do." 

He laughed. It went on for long enough that I felt compelled to ask him, "What?" 

"Oh, boy," he said, still wheezing with laughter. "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever *tried* it." 

"I hardly see what is so interesting about it. It's only a matter of friction and making strange noises." I did little to hide my annoyance. This, in retrospect, might have been a mistake. 

One should never give Schuldig a challenge unless one is very, very confident that he wants the challenge met. 

"Is that so?" he asked, and his smirk felt like heat on my skin. 

"Perhaps--" But I wasn't allowed to say anything more. 

Something like flames erupted all over my skin, burning me without heat. I could feel the cloth of the blanket covering me, and it was like a thousand tiny knives pushing into my flesh, but better, so much better. It felt as though I was split open, my naked insides exposed and vulnerable to all. My head rolled backwards by itself, and there were words in my chest that could not make their way past my throat. 

I had never craved anything in my life like I craved that sensation. That, I think, frightened me most of all. 

When the sensation relented, I got to my feet and fled, never pausing to think of safety or of the fact that I was naked. The lilies of the field spin not, neither do they toil; I hardly see why I should concern myself about clothing when they needn't. 

By the time the team found me, I was calm enough that I agreed to return. By the team, I should say, I mean Nagi and Crawford, for Schuldig was nowhere in sight. He wasn't anywhere to be found for days afterwards, and when he returned, he never once spoke to me or even acknowledged my presence. 

To my surprise, it troubled me. It shouldn't have bothered me so, but the fact remains that none but him treat me as a sentient human being-- or, honestly, as anything but a convenient knife-wielding automaton. True, Schuldig humiliated and wounded me as a form of recreation, but at least he made some attempt to engage me in intellectual conversation every now and then. 

The situation proved irksome enough that I decided to inquire. As I could not get Schuldig, ordinarily my preferred source of information, to come within five steps of me and as one was as likely to get a stone to speak as to get information from Crawford, I resorted to asking Nagi. 

I'm hardly an expert at understanding human behavior, but laws of conduct within Schwarz were easy enough to learn, as bad manners led most often to bruises and nasty headaches. I therefore knew how to approach Nagi. 

The first and most important rule was this: if the door to his room is closed, never enter unless the house is on fire. Nagi has a very finely tuned sense of privacy, and greatly dislikes being disturbed. This rule was the most difficult to overcome, as Nagi is prone to spending weeks at a time without venturing out of his room, using his talents to summon food inwards and exorcise waste outside. As I preferred my bones in their current, unbroken state, I had to wait. Fortunately, patience is one of my few virtues. 

The second and third laws, being 'Give Nagi no extra work unless commanded so by Crawford' and 'Do not require Nagi to put himself in any risk' were more easily met. I was only requesting information he already had. Nagi understood the dangers of ignorance, and while this made him prone to encourage this trait in enemies, he usually preferred to educate his teammates, making it clear that he knew our safety increased his own. 

He was toying with the remote control when I found him at last, not even bothering to look at the television screen. I stood silently by the couch and waited. 

"What is it?" he said eventually, his tone bored. 

"Do you know why Schuldig is ignoring me lately?" 

It pays to be blunt with the members of Schwarz. Mostly, I found that this is because my teammates have such a great ability with subtlety that plain honesty is strange, frighteningly new ground for them. 

Nagi, still staring at the plastic buttons, said, "Orders from Crawford. After your last little run, Crawford decided that Schuldig is making you unstable. He told Schuldig that if you're seen together, Crawford would neuter him." He sighed. "Remind me to streak naked through the town the next time Schuldig approaches me." 

"I will," I said. 

"I was joking," he said irritably. "Go and kill some nuns, will you? I'm busy." 

I left him to himself. I had a great deal to think of. 

Considering the facts, I concluded that Crawford wasn't wrong. Schuldig did indeed affected me badly. My boredom or frustration-- my loneliness? -- had no effect whatsoever on my outward activities. Excitement did, and if there was one thing that could be said about Schuldig, it was that he provoked excitement. Therefore, the most intelligent course of action was to prove that his advances did not damage my mental composure. This was difficult indeed, as the latter statement was evidently false. 

Perhaps another course of action would be prudent. I could show that denying me of Schuldig's company was worse than the alternative. I considered this for a while, and decided that it would be futile. The only way a worsening of my functioning status could be evident would be by going on a killing spree, which would either go unnoticed or force Crawford to restrain me. I didn't mind the straitjackets very much, but they would get in the way of accomplishing my current task. 

I could, I thought; show that Schuldig's company had a beneficial effect on me, but how so? When God's Rage was upon me, I could not refuse its call for anything, and Crawford hardly cared about any of my other actions. 

For lack of a proper plan, I simply did my best to make it difficult for Schuldig. As with Nagi, Schuldig's patterns of behavior weren't difficult to establish. It was intriguing that they were, in that respect, complete opposites; while Nagi did everything in his powers to avoid human interaction of any sort, Schuldig constantly craved it, and did his best to elicit attention from anyone nearby. My other teammates being who they were, noticed this trait of his as well, and therefore did their best to stay clear of him when not absolutely necessary. It was no wonder that he constantly turned to me for conversation. 

I shadowed him constantly. I would sit, very still, but no further than three feet away from him at any given time. If he retreated to him room, I stood at the door. If he left our apartment, I followed him wherever he went. It was intriguing, how difficult it was for him to find other company while I was by his side. 

One night, after the third person in a row made quick excuses and disappeared, Schuldig finally turned to me. "Will you fuck *off* already?!" 

I tilted my head and said, "I'd rather not." We were standing outside a club Schuldig frequented, in a conveniently placed dark alley. The place stank of all manners of carnal sins, but they wouldn't allow me in the club so I had no choice but to wait for Schuldig there as he lured his victims outside for a bit of privacy. Apparently, I gave an unpleasant first impression. 

"Like I fucking care what you'd rather! Get the hell away from me, you goddamned stalker!" In his rage, he seemed to grow larger, like a cat spiking its fur. But, to keep with the feline analogies, his claws were sheathed; were they not, I would have indubitably been spasming in pleasure already. Schuldig did not believe in giving warnings until it was too late. 

As I had no intention of leaving and had made myself clear on that respect, I stayed silent. 

He gave me a searing look and said, in a low, silky tone, "Fine." 

I stood in place as he approached me slowly. "You think I'm bluffing," he said, and for all that his voice was soft it frightened me more than his loudest screams. "Well, maybe I am and maybe I'm not, but how will *you* know before it's too late?" 

God protects the virtues of his chosen ones. 

Best I'd get out of here as quickly as possible, then. 

But I didn't; I stood my ground. Schuldig wasn't allowed to approach me, I reminded myself. Schuldig, for all the good his insolent streak did him, did what Brad told him. Schuldig would not break a direct order for the sake of nothing more than retaliation. 

It wasn't until his body covered my own that I remembered that Brad had given him, with that amendment to team regulations, explicit permission to touch me sexually. 

To this day I do not know why I didn't break free of him and run as if Hell and all of its inhabitants were after me. I am, and was, physically stronger than him. He might have used his talent on me, true, but his habit of not damaging his teammates was so deeply ingrained that it would have taken a life-threatening situation to compromise it. 

But the fact remains that as soon as he touched me, I froze, no more able to move than I was when, as a child, my priest scolded me. Strength may come and go, but fear stays with you forever. 

And what was to be more feared than this? This, that which was the ultimate of all things forbidden. I knew that I was damned to Hell for all eternities. I was a murderer -- worse, a man who have killed his own family. I have blasphemed and soiled things of holiness more times than I have remembered. I have broken, in turn, each of the Ten Commandments. 

But for all of these things, I was not a Sodomite and could not be. 

But Schuldig-- Schuldig, who had embraced sin to be his playground and the ways of the flesh as his most beloved toy, let nothing stop him from rubbing his body against mine in a way that was more obscene than I could ever have imagined. His breath was hot on my throat and moist, and there was an unfocused look to his eyes. 

His hand gripped my hair, and he brought his mouth harshly to mine. 

The sensation was strange, and slightly nauseating. Wet heat and movement, all new experiences to that area. I was still unmoving, and eventually Schuldig let go of me and took a good look at my face. 

"I'm doing this wrong, aren't I?" he murmured. "Here, let's try it like *this*..." 

And again, the world exploded. Unfortunately, this time I was not allowed the grace of unconsciousness. 

The flashing, searing feeling resolved fairly quickly into pleasure. The pressure of his body against mine, the touch of his hands on my neck, on the back of my head, moving through my hair. My lips felt as though something inside them was lit, and every bit of warmth on them bloomed into unfamiliar, heart-rending bliss. 

He clutched me strongly and heaved against me, and I found that there could be a feeling more powerful yet after all. His voice was hoarse as he cried out -- "Fuck!" -- and convulsed in a series of short, violent spasms. 

I stood there, leaning against the wall, holding him upright. It felt as though someone had bidden my insides to boil and freeze at the same time. 

Lust and rage. Two mortal sins at the same time. How very convenient. I did not even know which of these was making me tremble. 

In my ear, Schuldig whispered, "Might as well be hung for a sheep as hung for a lamb," and knelt at my feet. I marveled that a man in so vulnerable a position was able to hold such power over me. I turned my face away; for all that God was cruel and uncaring, I could not suffer to be worshipped in His place. 

"Ah, but you'd make a much better God than the one we have already," Schuldig said, and unbuttoned my pants. My hands tightened into fists. Distantly, I felt moisture in them that might have been either sweat or blood. No, it must have been sweat; I knew the feel of fingernails passing through skin, and it hadn't happened. 

He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to my naked, vulnerable flesh. It responded, as the flesh of man was known to do ever since our fall from Heaven. Though what I felt wasn't nearly the same as what he had inflicted on me before, not even as good as a knife wound, I couldn't move away. It was maddening; the sensation was nothing to be desired, and yet I had not the strength of will to stop. It was as though my body knew that something was yet to come, something great and shattering. 

For one moment I prayed: Oh God, who art in Heaven, Deliver me-- 

My body surged like the torrent of the first Flood, and my eye drew closed by itself. What came out of my mouth was neither prayer nor blasphemy. It was a bestial sound, base and coarse, utterly fitting this act. 

I sagged slowly downwards. When I managed to open my eye, it lent itself to staring at Schuldig. He looked just the same as ever, the arrogant smirk and the flyaway hair well in place. If it weren't for the sharp scent of debauchery that rose from him, I would hardly have known what we have been through. 

Perhaps, for a moment, there was a look in his eyes that was foreign and unfamiliar to me. But if such a thing actually occurred, it disappeared so shortly afterwards that it might as well have been a figment of my imagination. 

He slid one finger across my lips. "Did you hear that?" he said. "That was you virginity saying 'bye bye'." 

I flinched away, and he smiled in a predatory way. "The world is corrupt enough without your help," I told him. 

"And there's enough killing without you adding to it. Your point?" 

"I kill those who spread lies meant to put men's minds to sleep and their souls to death." 

He laughed. "That's just the difference between us, Farfie my boy. I don't kill the people; I kill the *lies*." 

We returned to our residence of that time shortly afterwards. Crawford, of course, was furious when he saw us returning together, but Schuldig took him aside. They conversed for a while. What they said I neither need nor care to know. 

Perhaps it would be stretching the facts to claim that, afterwards, things were better. Easier, certainly, but easier is not necessarily better. Not necessarily worse, either, mind you. Easier just means easier, really. 

But easier it was. Schuldig and I were companions once more, Crawford's plans were not overly complicated with the need to station us apart from each other, and Nagi again returned to the sanctuary of his room and his peaceful misanthropy. Our little group was serene once more. 

And yet, I could not help but worry over in my mind the price, which had to be paid for this newfound peace. A virgin sacrifice, as it was. And giving it to Schuldig... Something within me insisted that the very act was nothing short of idolatry. 

I will take a moment to explain, if I may do so. While I see no obstacle in breaking my word to God -- after all, has He not broken his pact with us to protect us always from harm? -- I find the thought upsetting. God may be an oath breaker; that is no excuse for *me* to be one. And so, while I will do what I believe to be right (such as the massacre of those who lie and befool the masses by pretending to be true believers while in fact worshipping nothing but the Golden Calf), I would rather keep my word than break it. 

And thus, one quiet day while on patrol duty, I asked Schuldig, "Is the copulation of a man with another man morally wrong?" 

Schuldig snorted so loudly that several faces turned to us. "Why the hell do you think I care?" 

I stayed silent. 

Eventually, he said, "So this is how it's gonna be? I give you an answer you don't like, you give me the silent front?" 

"What you said was no answer at all." 

"Looked enough like an answer to *me*." 

"Strangely enough, your considerations are not the only ones to be taken into account at each given situation." 

"Strange is right." But he sighed and shook his head. "Look, what do you want me to say? It might be morally wrong, but so is lying, stealing and killing, and both of us have done all three." 

"We are but our necessities turned flesh." 

"Trust me, for me sex *is* a necessity." He put his hands in his pockets and looked me in the eye. "Come on. What other choice do I have? If I don't have sex, I'll go crazy. Crazier. Do you realize how many people are having sex within my range just now, never mind just *thinking* about it? If I wasn't a slut, I'd explode." 

"Intercourse is sanctified with marriage." 

His eyes widened. "Oh, tell me you're not serious. Subject some poor woman to *me* for her entire life? I thought God was supposed to be merciful." He paused. "Of course, that last sentence was nothing like me admitting not to be perfect." 

I spat on the sidewalk. "'Supposed' in no indicator of how things truly are." 

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, for-- someone's sake. Will you get *over* it? God this and God that. Get a grip. We live in the *real* world, Sugar. All that matters is what *we* do about it, not what some Big Brother up in the sky thinks." 

I raised my eyebrows. "If you think so, it is only because He means you to think so." 

He gave me an exasperated look. "You've just proven my point for me. If anything I do is because He tells me to, what's the point in worrying about it? Let Him play chess or whatever with himself. In the meantime, I'll be downstairs enjoying myself." 

I frowned. His arguments were valid, and yet-- 

"Hey, are you falling asleep on me? C'mon, we need to get going." 

I followed him, slowly but steadily grinding my teeth. Schuldig was a fine man to converse with, but unfortunately once he started he would never *stop.* 

I needed to think it out, and think it out I did. God's Rage descended upon me once more a day or two later, and I recovered from it wrapped in restraints and hanging upside down. I rather enjoyed that position, as a matter of fact; it kept the blood flow to my head steady and gave me an unusual perspective on things. 

It was well enough. I had much to consider. Schuldig, being who he was, was unlikely to provide me with excuses: he needed them all for himself. I had done what I had done. I could either cope with it or die. Perhaps both... But suicide is a sin, and breaking my pact with God a thousand times is no reason to break it once more. 

Even so, the pact was broken. The deed was done. Did I feel unclean? Yes, but no more so than ever. Humans are unclean by their very nature. How else could God explain the deaths of children? 

Or, in my case, children committing murder? 

But never mind my old sins. I had new ones on hand to deal with. These were times when I terribly missed having a priest - or, for that matter, parents. Anyone who will tell you, "This is good. This is right. This is what God wants, and this is what you must do." I had become too old and sinful for reassurance, but I still craved it. 

I worried at it, at I would at a loose piece of skin, until it would tear and the blood will flow warm and sweet. But it would not tear, and no blood flowed, and I remained troubled. 

When I despaired of reaching for an answer, I opened the door to Schuldig's room and asked him, "Am I of the Damned?" 

He scowled at me and said, "Listen carefully. I'll say this one more time and that's it: I. Don't. Know. If you don't stop asking me these questions, I'll make you catatonic, I swear." 

I raised my eyebrows. "What will Crawford think?" 

"Crawford can blow me." He must have seen the flush spreading on my face, because he said, "And so can you." 

"Can I?" I did not know this trembling thing that was my voice. 

"Who's gonna stop you?" The smirk on his face widened. 

"Perhaps I should." 

"Perhaps doesn't matter." He closed his eyes and looked away. "Look, I don't like this. And when I say something feels wrong to me, we're *definitely* in some weird territory. Just... just back off, okay? Go kill a nun or something." 

For some strange reason, the last remark stung. I was accustomed to being nothing more than a weapon with strange quirks. It still wounded me to lose the one person who thought there was more to me. 

Said person snorted. "Yeah, right. It's called 'mutual abuse', Farfie: you're just about the only one who doesn't tell me to shut the fuck up and get out of their sight. If I have to stand some dimwitted fanatic to have someone to listen to me, I'll do it." 

I ignored the pet name and the insult. Both of them were cheap distraction tactics, unworthy of Schuldig. Instead, I said, "Talk then. Tell me how to make this right." 

He laughed, a genuine pleased laughter. "You're looking for a lecture tonight?" And for all that his voice was taunting, I could see in his posture that he wanted to speak. 

"Perhaps." It never pays to let Schuldig know he has power over one's self. 

Honestly, it matters little. He knows anyway. 

"Okay. Item one: you having sex with me wasn't exactly free will on your account, since I manipulated you into it. Which I did because I was pissed off and horny, both of these emotions caused by God in one-way or another. Item two: you having sex with me probably saved some poor girl from being ravished." He paused for a moment. "Not that she wouldn't have had the time of her life, but Catholically speaking, ravishing's a bad idea. Right so far?" 

"As far as I can tell." 

"Great. So, item three: unlike most of our extracurricular activities, what we were doing wasn't actually hurting anyone, so I don't see why the bloody hell God should care." 

"His laws are meant to guide our souls as well as our bodies." 

"Well, seeing as He damned well *made* our souls, the least he could have done was get them dry cleaned before usage." 

I couldn't help an amused snort. Schuldig picked on that and continued, encouraged. "Plus, he made our bodies. Everything He made is holy, right? Ergo, what we did was holy, too." 

I frowned. "I disagree. Since God made everything, this would be claiming that nothing is sinful, seeing as everything is His sacred creation." 

Schuldig gave me a significant look. "And your problem with that is--?" 

I bowed my head and left the room. I had much to think about. 

Sadly, I never got that, because I opened the door to my room to find Schuldig already there, looking furious. "Do you have any *idea*," he said, hitting the wall for emphasis, "how much I hate it when you just stalk away in the middle of conversation like that?" 

I considered. "I don't." 

He approached me, and his eyes were full of such rage that I unwittingly stepped back. "Well, I fucking do," he said. He grabbed the front of my shirt with two white, strangely elegant hands. His arms were wiry, thinner than mine, and yet they had strength enough to lift me a few inches of the ground. We had lived a hard life, but with its prices, came benefits. 

A cruel, beautiful smile crossed over his face. "I do believe," he said, "that I just gave you ample justification to surrender." 

This attack was similar to the previous one in that that I never resisted, never actively refused. It was different in that that I found myself leaning into his caresses more, reaching for his body. 

Eventually, I found myself on my knees, beholding him in his naked glory, his vibrant flame-colored hair crowning radiant white skin as he rose from a tiny, short-lived death like a Phoenix. When he commanded, I obeyed. 

When it was done, he grinned at me, and I found myself mesmerized in his hatred, his harshness, his petty-minded cruelty. He was ever at my side, seeking to drive me into hell and oblivion. He roamed the country to inflict corruption, but for once I knew without being told that he would always return to my side to blacken and damn my soul. 

And I remembered: The Morning Star was the most beautiful of all angels. 

**

End

**

_Notes: Many, many thanks to Patti and Sharakh who beta'd. Any mistakes remaining are my fault, not theirs. _

The title is from VNV Nation's song 'Dark Angel', which could be construed as a Schuldig song. Honestly, I just wanted a matching set of titles, as the sequel also has VNV Nation lyrics for a title. This sequel, alas, won't be posted here as it is very much NC-17. 

And many, many thanks to everyone who commented on everything I wrote before. If I never got around to answering you, I'm terribly sorry - I'm horrible about remembering to answer to people and such things. Forgive me? :) 


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